A Court of Baes and Betrayal (ACOBAE)
by mayamuses2
Summary: Ianthe is an ambitious High Priestess who bedded the High Lord of Spring when his fiancee was taken to Night Court. She plans to unite Fae and mortal lands under her rule... and the coming eras via her successor(s). Has Prythian defeated Amarantha for another Dominatrix female? Post ACOMAF storyline: alternates through our fave characters' POVs and features scenes with top ships!
1. PART I: High Bae of Spring Court

**_I've been typing this on the notes app of my iPhone - it's after the ending of ACOMAF (DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU'VE READ ACOMAF, SPOILERS AHEAD) and is a compilation of different POVs + inner monologue of our favorite characters and infamous toolboxes and ish for what ships/drama I think will be endgame._**

 ** _There will be swearing and potential sexy times new adult material. You've been warned :P_**

 ** _Please read and review! Let me know if there are any inaccuracies or send me a message with a suggested plot twist._**

* * *

Tamlin

I exited Feyre's room, seething about Rhysand, claws growing from my hands and scraping down the wall with violent strokes. He'd brainwashed her with gibberish about mates when he'd stolen my fiancée from the altar, when he'd been Amarantha's whore for five decades, his jewels wrapped up in her cave as we, suffering High Fae of Spring Court, were forced behind masks. He'd taken my property right off my Court as if he could call in a bargain that was made in a prison cell when I was bound and helpless. Fight me like a man, you evil bat.

I could feel the snarl threatening to escape subside at the thought of Ianthe, all luscious curves and youthful radiance. We'd been longtime friends and I, amongst scores of male admirers, harbored an ever-intensifying infatuation with the sway of her hips as she turned her exposed back, smooth, long lashed wink accompanied by a suggestive curve of her lush, full lips as she flipped her revealed hair. Ianthe had warmed my bed when my length had throbbed at Feyre's empty bed, had provided me with clever court ruling suggestions when I was on the verge of marching over to Rhysand's sorry excuse for a Court and taking what was rightfully mine. She'd told me that the King of Hybern was looking towards the mortal lands and clearly, Spring Court was on the Fae side of the Wall, the closest access point. I had been all for her idea of working with him - everyone I cared about was High Fae. A tiny bit of me lamented the thought of Feyre's mortal sisters, but it disappeared in an instant. Ianthe and I graced the entire house with our passionate love making, her generous ass warming Feyre's bed.

No matter that Feyre was not ready for any night activity after whatever dark schemes Rhysand had been conspiring. Feyre and I would be physically fused once more at Calanmai - I was sure of it. I have showered my soon-to-be wife with jewelry and dresses and paints and all that she could want in a house. I have shown her how glorious my length is, how well I can move, how lucky she is to have me. I have displayed my power, my destruction of all the rooms in the house in her absence. She won't have to bother that pretty little head of hers with court affairs and High Fae politics. After Under the Mountain, after Rhysand's trials and tribulations, she needs to stay in the house, safe and sound, and be my wife. We endured much for each other to endure the best possible life together, and of course Rhysand had to ruin the party.

I idly wondered why Ianthe had taken off. My impressive beast twitched in protest at the absence of warmth.

* * *

Feyre

As soon as Tamlin left the room, I curled up in my bed. I shivered at the feel of unfamiliar blankets, at the absence of elegant Illyrian wings embracing me in all their warmth and sensitivity. It was all wrong, the smell of the house, the smell and feel of Tamlin, the Spring Court dresses. I ached for Rhysand to be beside me in this endeavor of utter importance, though I knew he supported my independence, had full faith in my abilities. We were connected, friends, mates, bonded, but free to be our own person, no obligations. Rhys loved me enough to let me go - not that I would ever leave what we have both been so blessed to find.

I thought of my sisters, Nesta of the sharp tongue and Elain of the lovely kindness. I wondered if Elain still wore the iron ring of her Fae-hating mortal fiancé's family, if she realized that it was settled upon her finger as a High Fae and was doing nothing. I'd have to warn them - that iron did nothing to High Fae, though ash arrows, namely poisoned ash arrows, were a horror to behold. I thought of the times Rhys and I had saved each other from the brink of death.

I lamented the thought of Cassian's glorious wings in tatters at the hand of the King of Hybern. He was the leading general of the army and Illyrians prized their wings (oh so sensitive) above all else. Cauldron save - I stopped. Cauldron be damned, if it was in the hands of the ruthless King and his mortal Queen pets. Hopefully Cassian would be engaged in sparring of the tongue with Nesta as he was recovering. I smiled briefly at the thought, the corners of my lips drooping as I longed to discuss the current happenings of the two Courts we were separated in with Rhys.

I closed my eyes, longing to drift away into the heated visions of our passion.

* * *

Nesta

I'd failed. I'd failed myself, Elain, the mortal race. What I once was. What I was meant to be. Not trapped in this unfamiliar, dangerously smooth new body, not hearing with ears ending in sharp points, like everything in this treacherous world we'd heard horrendous tales about. It was every mortal's nightmare to cross the Wall. Not that the mortal queens had been any better. They'd been ready to throw us to the wolves. Wolves, High Fae, same difference. And the Wall would soon be nonexistent, unless we thwarted the King of Hybern. Doubtful, if the monster could torture someone as sweet as Elain and smile in pleasure.

My heart stumbled at the sound of muffled grunts emerging from Cassian's bedroom, situated across from me like some sort of joke. It wasn't my place, I knew - he was surrounded by his Inner Circle. He'd failed to save me, despite his earnest promises, and now I would fail - no. I'd failed enough. It was about time I at least tried not to disgrace my vows once again.

I prowled toward his room, hating my lethal new High Fae body, the heightened hearing, the precise eyesight. I loathed how my body sang at the feel of Night Court clothing, loose pants swishing with every step. I wet my lips, grateful that my sharp tongue was still intact, and rapped upon the door.

"Enter," Cassian rasped, and I pushed forward into the darkened room. I squeezed my eyes shut, despising how quickly they adjusted to the low light. My mortal eyes would have required far more time. I pursed my lips, opening my eyes reluctantly.

Cassian lay atop the bed on his stomach, his ravaged wings folded protectively upon his sculpted back. He wore nothing and lay exposed to the elements, save for a light blanket that covered his lower half. I flushed upon realizing what I was looking at, knowing I should back out of the room. Elain would be so much better in this situation.

I scavenged for a witty one liner but came up short, the strangest urge to comfort Cassian washing over me. I swallowed nervously, trying to bury the foreign emotions that were rising up.

"You came for the view?" Cassian managed to shoot me a side eye from where he lay, face turning towards me with the hint of a smirk. "I'd turn over but our reunion is under rather unfortunate circumstances," he continued, arm twisting upon his back to indicate, and subsequently stroke, his right wing. His face morphed into a raw reveal of painful pleasure, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed. The expression disappeared quickly, his perpetually amused mask back in place. I loosened a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, eyes widened at the glimpse of his suffering.

"No, I," I racked my brains for a suitable reason as to why I was in his room at midnight. "I want to fight."

Cassian let out a snort, body shaking with laughter. "That is the understatement of the year." He peered up at her through his dark lashes, brows raised. "You mean right now?" His brows rose further, the right one quirking higher in a suggestive manner. "On the bed?"

"I didn't want to deal with your insufferable sniffling while I was attempting at beauty sleep," I snapped, desperate to cover the flush creeping from my neck to my hairline. "Or your self-obsessed commentary. But I want to strangle that son of a bitch with my bare hands," I snarled vehemently.

"What can I say," Cassian cast an amused expression upon me. "Your sharp tongue could cut the King of Hybern into little pieces." His face turned approving as his roaming gaze assessed me. "And you don't need beauty sleep."

"We all need rest," I said, voice sharpening to a knifepoint. I couldn't bear his agony. "Have the Healers provided a soothing potion?"

"They did all that and more," Cassian said bitterly. "But my wings…" he trailed off in a strangled sob. I strode to his bedside, ready to put some sense into him.

"The loss of your wings would be tragic," I said, "but think of all the lives you saved." I recognized at that moment that despite Elain and I becoming High Fae against our will, against the very core of our being, Cassian and the Inner Circle members, Feyre included, had got us out of that hellhole. I would have fought that bitchass King myself if I hadn't been stumbling over my new body. "You got me and my sister out of there," my voice softened in gratitude, startling me. I hadn't heard that tone since I needed Feyre to give me money for new boots when we were in that hovel with my sorry excuse for a father.

Cassian had buried his face in the pillow, his shoulder length midnight hair and ears the only visible parts of his head. Emboldened by the night and his lack of sight at present, I ran my fingers through the thick strands, stroke lingering at his neck. Cassian moved faster than lightning, flipping into a seated position to face me. His eyes were a silent question.

"What will make it easier to sleep?" I asked quietly.

"Stay with me," he murmured, holding my gaze.

I bit off the snarky retorts that rose to the forefront of my mind, about how he needed me…wanted me, and how that'd get people talking. I wasn't cruel, throwing others' vulnerability, what they revealed, back into their face.

But I couldn't stay in the same bed as him.

"I'll settle into that chair," I indicated it with a tilt of my head. Cassian rolled his eyes.

"I have no energy for…evening activities in my sorry state," he reminded me. "Besides," he fixed me with the full intensity of his dark eyes, "I'd want to do it right."

I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't look away from his…smolder. That was the word. But I knew Cassian's character, the rumors that circulated. I wouldn't be another female figure for mindless release.

"I don't want to be a nameless, faceless female in your bed," I said flatly. "I don't share."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Cassian asked, tilting his head to the side. "Why you're always so prickly?"

"I don't have time for this," I retorted, making a move towards the door.

"What else are you doing?" Cassian asked, a touch of bitterness in his tone. "Don't bullshit me that you're sleeping peacefully after the High Fae transformation and Hybern, with Feyre being in Spring Court and our whole world going to hell." He clenched his teeth angrily. "And the fucking General of the powerful Illyrian army is bedridden, just when we need to fight -"

"We need to strategize," I cut him off before he worked himself into a senseless fury. "Fighting be damned right now! When plans fall through, shit hits the roof. As it did at Hybern. And those bitches, mortal queens," now I snarled at the thought of those women. "And that Spring Court bastard, savage rabid beast devil, conspiring cock ass betrayer -"

"Dammnnnnn," Cassian whistled appreciatively. "What colorful language for a lady." He'd eased into a laid back position, settled upon his elbows, wings folded protectively beneath him. "I fully agree. Go on, and bring me some hors d'oeuvres while you're at it."

"Finger foods, my ass. I'll chop your fingers off first," I breathed heavily.

"So you really have no love for the High Lord of the Spring Court," Cassian shrugged nonchalantly, "if he can still be called by that honorable title after his actions."

"I have no love for no one," I shot back, amending, "anyone."

"Nuh-uh." Cassian cocked one brow. "You love your sisters."

I looked away. I wasn't going to refute that. But thinking about my sisters' ordeals was too much for me at present. I'd failed my duties as the eldest.

"I'll be going," I indicated the door with a tilt of my head. "No more mushy talk."

"I haven't got a mushy bone in my body," Cassian smirked. "It's all hard as hell."

"You go to hell," I said as I made my way to my room.

"Thanks for staying!" He called out.

 _Jerk._

* * *

Rhysand

 _Thighs clenched, wings clenched, jaw tight. Don't let him catch wind, don't let him guess, keep Feyre safe, let us be together…_

 _"Ah, it seems Feyre only left to be with her mate!" The King of Hybern clapped his hands as if entertained by a soap opera. "How interesting."_

 _IHAVENOPOWERS_  
 _IAMHELPLESS_

 _Amarantha beckoned with a ruby red nail, "Service me."_

 _Lucien's voice, "TO YOUR LEFT!" Feyre almost devoured by the worm._

 _Tamlin forcing Feyre onto his bed, locking her in, her pain, agony ripping through me,_

 _"You're dying, Feyre." Her arm dangling at an abnormal angle, skin deathly white, eyes dark pits, devoid of hope,_

 _ITISTHEEND_

My eyes flew open, body coated in cold sweat. I'd worked the covers into a frenzied mess, my head nearly dangling off the side of the bed. I adjusted myself, pulling the covers over my suddenly chilly bare chest.

I needed a voice other than my own tortured thoughts. I could go to Cassian's room with my current lack of attire, but I might bump into other nighttime wanderers. Like Amren.

I put on some pants and quietly stalked towards Cass' room, where I froze at the sound of voices. Nesta, I recognized with surprise.

It sounded like she was in the middle of a rant about Tamlin. I found my spirits uplifted just a tinge at the welcome distraction.

I flattened myself against the wall as Nesta stormed out with a "You go to hell" directed at Cassian. I smirked delightedly. I didn't know where Elain had come from - the other two Archeron sisters were so feisty.

I liked that the women around me were like that. Feyre, Mor, Amren…if I could get over what Nesta had done to Feyre back in their mortal village, I'd like her too.

"So," I sauntered into the room, emerging out of the darkness. "You guys do an against the wall, argument-turned-passion session or what?"

"She was mad because there wasn't one," Cassian said, looking out the window. His usual snappy comeback tone was gone, replaced by a world weary exhaustion. I knew why, of course, and I wasn't going to bring it up. We both needed a distraction.

"Drinks on the roof?" I suggested, just to get him out of his funk. I knew it'd be a long ordeal. And sometimes, it was necessary to drink yourself to oblivion.

I'd had Feyre drink to escape from the horrors of Under the Mountain.  
I'd have Cassian drink to forget the painful Hybern ordeal.  
I'd drink to dream of a world of art and love and peaceful happiness, where families may roam free in equality between mortals, lesser faeries, and High Fae.

I snorted aloud at the ridiculousness of that sentiment. The High Lord of Night Court inclined towards love and peace and happiness? The notorious devil, winged and tattooed and taloned, with his hidden hellhole of a shitshow, the all powerful ruler of the likes of the Court of Nightmares, womanizer, mind shatterer…HE kept Velaris safe?

Yep that's me. All the world's a stage, my friend.

And I hadn't even been behind a mask during the blight. During my first meeting with Feyre at Calanmai, her human heart thudding, her mortal mind so fragile, I'd worn no mask but played my part.

How I really felt was more appropriate for Tarquin, something like Summer Court. Cringing slightly, I thought of the blood rubies. That was another relationship I'd have to repair…hopefully we. Feyre and I as a duo.

Feyre could work her magic on Tamlin…I shuddered at the thought. Tamlin was too far gone. But we'd need all the help we could get, even from…

"What did your sharp tongued vocal sparring partner have to say?" I asked, jerking out of my reverie. "About good ol' Tam Tam?" I looked over at Cass, who'd nodded off as I'd been thinking about myself. I strode over, tenderly tucking the remains of his wings upon the mattress so he could sleep on his back. I scrunched my eyes, but a tear leaked out nevertheless. Cassian, oh Cass, who I'd grown up alongside. Who prized his wings so dearly. The loss of them would be a grave sacrifice indeed, and I sent a prayer up to the stars that the healers would be able to save Cassian's wings as all hell breaks loose across Prythian.

* * *

Lucien

Of all places, I had to discover my mate under the watchful scrutiny of that son of a bitch, in Hybern! I'd take the mortal lands or better yet, Prythian for that kind of life changing information, thank you very much.

What had she thought? I must have looked a madman, spouting bull about her being my mate just as she underwent a humiliating transformation to High Fae. She'd worn an iron engagement ring - I was an idiot to further frighten the girl, especially with my metal eye. And now she was in the Night Court with Rhysand and his croonies…

Speaking of Rhysand, I didn't buy their little act one bit. When I'd gone to retrieve Feyre from the clutches of the High Lord of the Night Court, she'd grown her own wings and stood beside Rhysand, the two working as a pair. And he'd been interested in her Under the Mountain, and she'd entered an inked bargain with him. Now, Tamlin thought Rhysand had mind control over Feyre and she just found a way to come back to him, get married, so on…

Bullshit. I'd given Feyre every option to come back that time, and she's adamantly refused. I'd thought Rhysand had his claws on her then too, because it was the height of his powers in his territory.

And I could see where Tam's mad thinking could have a touch of logic - our powers had been diminished in Hybern, so Feyre had "come to her senses." I'd believe that shit story too if it hadn't been for their mating bond.

That couldn't be faked. The King of Hybern, with his evil sniffing prowess, had sensed it. I'd seen the tense set of Rhysand's shoulders. He'd been hiding it.

We all played a dangerous game, but sometimes the masks were off. In Spring Court's case, it was their physical disappearance. But for one moment, I'd seen the briefest glimpse of undiluted, raw agony flicker across his misleadingly angelic features.

If Rhysand the evil bat was concerned, I didn't know what hope was left for the rest of us.

We were all connected to Feyre. Me, Tam, Rhysand.

But Tam was just as much an imposter as Feyre was. Sure, she'd infiltrated Spring Court with loyalties to Rhysand, but he…

Tamlin may have produced demon spawn with that fake bitch, most likely created the High Bae of the Spring Court.

* * *

Ianthe

I felt it with a deep awareness, low in my flat belly. We'd been trained to sense such life energies, and I'd achieved what I'd aimed for since the start. With a longtime friend and sexy beast, no less.

It was actually a blessing that the dark devil had crashed my perfectly planned wedding - I'd never forgive that bastard for that infraction, nevertheless - because that meant Tam finally paid full attention to my advances.

It was still fresh in my head, that fucker's rejection of me. The pain, both physical and emotional, he'd caused me.

I'd avenge my humiliated self.

That fiery haired, one eyed lapdog of Tamlin's had such a fiery temper to match. But no matter that I hadn't gotten him under my belt. I'd gone for the silver and gotten the gold. Well, technically red but specifics, who cared?

That Night Court son of a bitch had been the platinum standard, all that power, but I'd prefer to stay in Spring Court, thank you very much. Blondes are more my type anyhow, but I don't discriminate.

The King of Hybern. Oh, I hoped he was a tasty treat.


	2. PART II: Fighting Feelings

_**A/N *Nessian Special!* I discovered the Nessian short story in the special edition of ACOMAF and def amped up the Nessian intensity in this xD**_

* * *

Elain

 _Flowers. Orderly rows of them. Red, white, blue, gold, fuchsia. The sun glows brightly upon the soil, and my father laughs._

 _The scene flickers between the cute garden of the cottage and the sprawling fields of the manor, both beautiful in their own way._

 _The autumn leaves fall in fiery hues, the signal of fall harvest transforming into…_

 _Flames dancing atop his head, a scar diagonal across his face. A look of bewilderment upon different eyes, a blended hue of clear skies, healthy soil, lush lawns upon one, the other a moving metal, the face that jumped out amidst the jeering crowds the evil King the bathtub the horrors I almost drowned choking on water pain ripping me from the inside out and_

 _I was High Fae._

I sat up with a start, willing it to be a nightmare, that my father would come rushing in with my star jasmine, that my body was soft and human and…

"You go to hell!" Nesta's voice, unmistakably. I sighed. That was familiar, at least. Hopefully this dark vision had all been brought on by bad mushrooms and the stress over the mortal queens and Feyre's reappearance from Prythian but…

Wait. I shouldn't be able to see so well in the evening, my night vision clear, eyes adjusting so rapidly.

I was High Fae.  
I was one of them.  
I, who'd scorned the Children of the Blessed, who was engaged to my fiancé who hated faeries  
Oh, what would they say?  
I was in Prythian.  
I'd gone over the Wall.  
As far as they were concerned, I was dead.  
I was worse than dead.  
It was one thing for Feyre - she'd been hunting in the woods, adventurous and self sufficient since the trauma of our family's demise.  
Nesta and I, we'd never ventured further than the village market.  
But they were as good as dead too.  
If we couldn't do anything.  
Let bygones be bygones.  
Where there is life, there is hope.

But mated? What did that entail? I'd felt a strange fascination, staring into those mismatched eyes, drawn to learn more. Was that mere curiosity? Why had my line of sight fixated upon him primarily?

Questions upon questions, but I had no answers.

Nesta seemed to be awake. I decidedly stood up, though had to initially lean against the bed for support as my shaking legs adjusted to the circumstances. I may be High Fae now, but such an ordeal caused my legs to quiver like a baby deer.

Her room was diagonal from mine - I'd been situated beside the suffering, good-looking one with the ruined wings. I felt sad for him, even though I didn't know him very well. My interactions with the beautiful, but undoubtedly dangerous and powerful trio of winged High Fae had been limited to our tense dinner when I was still mortal.

I pulled on my boots, quietly making my way out. I nearly smacked into a something solid and I took a startled leap backwards when I realized the hard wall was the torso of the High Lord of the Night Court.

"Elain Archeron," he said smoothly. "It is a pleasure to see you, even under rather…unique circumstances." He indicated the rooms of Cassian and Nesta, his friend and my sister, respectively, with a hint of amusement.

I couldn't help but feel the flutterings of fear in my clammy palms and racing heart. This High Lord, this Rhysand, Feyre's mate was High Fae incarnate. He was the night, the dreams of the stars and the screams of nightmares.

But I'd been looking for answers, and he seemed to be awake and alert - perhaps he was night patrol. The thought calmed me a bit. If he was on our side - which hopefully extended to Nesta and me because of Feyre - I wouldn't choose a better protector. I'd sleep better knowing he was on the prowl.

Then again, this house was probably magically warded and hidden.

"I had…questions," I said carefully. My voice was soft, a slight quiver hopefully not noticeable by him. But he could draw the truth straight out of your head. Strangely, that was also reassuring, because there wasn't the burden of withholding information or having to reveal secrets.

Rhysand only nodded, tilting his fiercely beautiful face in curiosity and waving an elegant hand in the classic go on gesture.

"What does it mean to be mated?" I asked, startling myself with the directness of the question. Rhysand froze, and I could swear I saw him bite his lip. In amusement or nervousness, I couldn't tell.

"Why the interest?" He said softly, his voice tinged with emotion. I was surprised at his tone. From what I'd seen of him, he kept his feelings under a masterful facade of perpetual amusement or sophisticated, seducing elegance, or played the part of dangerous creature of the night.

"I…" Should I reveal to him? Did he already know? I studied his handsome features. He had reassumed his mask of amused curiosity. "I wanted to know about the mating bond, as I am now High Fae."

"Is that so?" He cocked an eyebrow, daring me to say more.

"Do you already know?" I asked cautiously, my voice a near whisper.

"Know…?" Either he was playing dumb or really didn't know. "Anyhow, I will explain.

Your mate is your equal in every way. It is a bond that goes deeper than courtship and marriage, stronger than familial ties, sometimes. The connection has always been present, but it doesn't manifest until the two mates set eyes upon each other. Upon first sighting, it is near impossible to forget the other, unless a very strong willpower allows you to love the other enough to let them go.

But you can let them go without being separated as a power duo," he gazed into the distance, reminiscing. "You can be independent, trusting in each other…you can be bonded over lengthy physical separations."

I followed his gaze, realizing with a start that he looked southwards, towards Spring Court. Towards the mortal lands. And I looked that way too, wondering if I was thinking of the fiery haired High Fae or my mortal fiancé, towards the Spring Court of Prythian or the mortal grounds which were once my home.

* * *

Cassian

The sunlight hit my face and I groaned, realizing that someone had laid me on my back, wings folded neatly beneath me. Had it been Nesta? I couldn't imagine her being that gentle. She'd be more likely to flip me like meat frying on a skillet. I looked forward to that, teaching her how to fight.

It must have been Rhys. I vaguely remembered talking to him last night after Nesta had left. I wished she'd stayed, but I wasn't one to grovel. I had some semblance of dignity to maintain.

I stretched, realizing my wings weren't causing me as much agony. I twisted my torso, attempting to see. No matter, I had five mirrors installed in my room. One of them would do.

I stood up, carefully making my way over to a mirrored corner. I'd closed my eyes in nervous anticipation, hoping they hadn't deteriorated further.

"I was asked to bring you this," Nesta said from the doorway, and I turned, wings instinctively folding into my body. She held a breakfast tray with my favorite selections. Rhysand's doing, no doubt.

"What for?" I asked. "I was about to make my way downstairs."

Nesta started, as if suddenly noticing my position. "You were bedridden! What, you had a miraculous recovery?" She looked at the mirrors that adorned my room with thinly veiled judgment. "And you need this many looking glasses to tell you whatever it is you need to hear?"

"What is it that I need to hear, Nesta?" I asked quietly.

"That you're an egotistical narcissist and ladykiller, I suppose," she shrugged. I had expected her to stick out her tongue, which I wouldn't have minded seeing.

"Ladykiller!" I held a hand to my heart in mock horror. "Is that a good thing?"

"No, it means you slay innocent women," she rolled her eyes. "With your charm," she added.

"Charm," I repeated, relishing the tidbit I'd extracted from her. I wished I had Rhys' mind control abilities so I could know her actual opinion of me. "You'd thought I'd worked some faerie magic on you when we'd last…spoken."

"You mean last night?" She peaked a single dark brow, unruffled.

"You know what I'm talking about, Nesta Archeron." I took a step forward just as she set down the breakfast tray upon the bed.

"When you fled with your tail between your legs?" She pursed her lips. "That was a rather…uneventful occasion." She assessed me, cool silver gaze roving from head to toe. "You are fit for the training room?"

"I'll have to…prepare but -"

"Prepare what? Your dignity?" She snorted. "Don't worry, you won't find it."

"I'll meet you in the training room after breakfast," I said through gritted teeth. I shook my head at how this cutting edge female got under my skin. How I dreamed of burying myself in her.

She awakened all kinds of feelings within me.

She made me feel alive when my spirit was dying.

"We'll do less damage in the training room," she shot over her shoulder as she made her way out. "We'd shatter mirrors here, and as superstition goes, bad luck."

"And how, precisely," I said hoarsely. "Would we be shattering said mirrors?"

"Oh, you tell me," she flounced away.

Against the training room walls it was.

* * *

Mor

Rhysand was no fun - he was back to that stage before Feyre came to Night Court, that sullen, resigned phase.

And Amren was who knows where - either ripping her hair out over the union of the two segments of the Book or sucking blood and sulking in some corner.

Actually, Az was more likely to be looking like he was sulking, but just being contemplative and observant. Also in some corner.

What was it with these people and corners?

And Cass, my poor baby bat with his ripped wings. And Az, with his prolonged suffering at the hands of that son of a bitch.

Save your hair, Amren, I'll rip Hybern's throat out more vehemently than that idiot Tamlin ripped out Amarantha's.

Feyre's sisters were like two extremes - one frightened and soft spoken, sweet as a flower, chill as an autumn breeze, and one sharpened to knifepoint, so heated and fiery it was a surprise she didn't burst into flames at any moment.

She came down now without the breakfast tray, stony facade giving nothing away. I looked around the breakfast table.

"Why the long faces?" I broke into the silence, unable to bear the drab mood. "Hybern has the Cauldron, and the Book, and Jurian, and the mortal queens…" I trailed off. I couldn't quite add a "but" and insert a rosy picture of our current predicament. That scheming pig had an unfortunate advantage at present. I brightened then, looking at the new faces. "Welcome Nesta and Elain!" Rhysand shot me an incredulous look.

Thankfully, Cassian's appearance saved me from making further politically incorrect remarks.

Rhysand stood up, the pair silently communicating. Without a backwards glance, the duo swept out of the room.

"Now I can enjoy this meal in peace," Nesta commented, idly spreading preserves upon toast.

"He's been being a cocky bastard?" I asked, stifling my amusement. Nesta and Cassian at each other's throats was prime time entertainment, though the onlookers couldn't help but cringe at the biting remarks both shot during verbal battles.

"I wouldn't even grant him that title," Nesta said dryly. "And I'll save my voice for more important matters than adding to the encyclopedia of bastard bats."

I cringed inwardly. Poor Cass. Teasing and lighthearted insults were one thing, like my usage of cocky bastard, but his bastard born status was a constant thorn in his side. It was a deep rooted insecurity, only heightened by centuries of self deprecating humor and diminished self esteem. And for a girl like Nesta, who he admired for her sharp tongued wit and quick reflexes, to consistently remind him of his birth status, his perceived inadequacy and unworthiness…had Cass been cruel, he would have thrown her mortal heritage in her face as often as she threw bastard slurs in his.

We could attempt to cheer him up, Rhys and Az and I, but it would be Nesta that'd have to undo the damage. We'd have to ensure she didn't hurt Cass to the point of the eradicated possibility of them.

Oh, I saw it all right. Feyre had been throwing shoes at Rhysand from her first day at the Night Court.

* * *

Nesta

I sauntered into the training room without preamble, watching Cassian gingerly flex his wings. My eyes traveled down his exposed back, pausing of their own accord upon his glorious rear. My gaze continued its downwards path, tracing the contours of his muscular legs, fighting leathers skintight and adorned with knives.

I hadn't noticed that he had stilled, so distracted was I by my sleep deprived chain of thoughts.

"Like what you see?" He turned slowly, his smirk downright devilish, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His predatory gaze stripped me bare with its slow head to boot sweep, pupils dilated in arousal returning to my face in a suggestive eye to lip flicker.

Mor had dressed me in form fitting Illyrian leathers, and after a lifetime of layered dresses, modest save for the occasional square cut to display décolletage, I felt utterly naked in that moment.

I might as well have been, with the gap between my thighs so indecently exposed, the apex of my legs thrumming with a long slumbering sensation.

I couldn't extract a single retort from my suddenly befuddled brain, my mouth dry as the desert. So I looked away to the weapons displayed, trying to organize my mind chugging at negative speed and efficiency. The sight of the blades sharpened me back to the comforting hard bite of my steel edged demeanor and iron will.

"Strategic tactics and flattery only get a male so far, Cass…ian." I cringed at the realization that I had been about to call him Cass.

"Oh, I haven't even skimmed the surface with the likes of you," he responded, all silky voice and growing smirk. I stole glances at him under my lashes, feigning disinterest with my side profile, all that was visible to him. Oh, the things I'd do to that mouth.

When my brain processed that thought, I vowed to get more sleep immediately.

I needed a sharp object in my hands. Now.

"What do you recommend?" I asked nonchalantly in the direction of my line of sight, as if my traitorous brain hadn't been contemplating shattered mirrors and dancing lips. I tilted my head toward the racks and hooks, feeling strange without my golden brunette locks layered and falling to my hips. Mor had deftly braided and tightly secured my hair into a fighting appropriate style, waving away the handmaidens.

Cassian was behind me in a flash, his towering figure casting a shadow upon my silhouette. I felt his hot breath upon my newly High Fae ear, every syllable distinguishable, a harmonic cacophony of tone and timbre.

"I'd recommend that tongue of yours," he huskily murmured. "And then, that clever knee. And these…" he trailed off, gloved hands hovering beside my curves, heat threatening to burn through the protective armor.

"I can use my body as a weapon," I agreed, face turning to him in a miscalculated move. Our lips were a breath apart, and I remembered the last time we had been in this position…

No, I would not travel down memory lane, wouldn't think about the waves of heat cascading down my exposed neck with every one of his exhalations.

"But I need to wield a weapon," I finished, reaching for the cruelest blade, a fierce silver masterpiece with an engraved black hilt. "I need to adorn my hips with more than your wandering hands," I smirked, acknowledging that I recognized his lust addled senses. I fingered the blade reverently, stroking down its length.

"Any reason why you're feeling up my sword?" Cassian asked, smiling languidly. "Why don't you sharpen your tongue against it next?"

I whirled, brandishing the sword, intending to utilize the blade to draw him closer by the scruff of his neck. He deftly caught my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back, enough to cause notable discomfort but not excruciating pain. He latched onto my left arm with his right, trapping it beneath the other. Fueled by my indignance at being outmaneuvered, I stepped back and ground my backside against the pride of his manhood.

Cassian emitted a deep throated growl, spinning me so I was flush against his front. His gaze was wildly feral, darkened in desire and frustration.

"I have other uses for my tongue," I answered his question, my voice sweet and deadly.

"I'll take the floor or the wall," Cassian ground out, breathing heavily as he leaned toward me. I inhaled his intoxicating masculine scent, all passion and fury and spice, even as I stepped away, shaking off the feel of his grip upon my wrists.

"Then fight like a man to take what's yours." I adjusted my hold upon his sword, which thrummed with hardened rightness in my grasp.

Cassian withdrew a dagger from his boot in an effortless movement. He'd regained his composure and now sported a narrow eyed, calculating expression of thinly veiled hostility. I matched it, angry at how he made me feel. Furious for enjoying it, the power to torment him in pain and pleasure as an equal.

He came at me with his weapon of choice and I quickly realized I was vastly unmatched to his centuries of experience. I parried vehemently, side stepping and ducking and attempting to trip with an outstretched boot, aggressively flailing about. He prowled and stalked and thrust, every movement precise, beautiful, unleashing his passion upon our physical exchange. He'd make a good dancer, I found myself thinking, admiring his footwork as I defended myself.

My distraction gave him the opening to shove me against the wall, pinning my arms above my head. The sword clattered to the ground, my eyes widening at our slick bodies pressed against each other before narrowing in defiant anger at being unable to return the favor. He had lost the breastplate of his fighting leathers as our fight had become increasingly heated and I felt his bare chest rising against mine through my own armor. My sword gripping hand ached with the desire to feel the glistening hardness of his broad pectorals, but I would play this game with my gaze. I withdrew my eyes from their downward trail and focus upon his sculpted torso, working up to linger upon his mouth and then eyes. Cassian held my gaze, first flicking his tongue to moisten his own lips, then leaning forward, running his weapon of verbal battles against my lower lip, teeth teasing in their trail.

"Fight me off," he murmured huskily against my mouth, the sensation threatening to undo me. I couldn't retain my instinctual gasp, causing him to tear his sensational mouth away and trail his lips down the side of my neck. He abandoned his death grip on my arms.

My head fell back against the wall and my back arched instinctively, my muddled mind only chanting _closerclosercloser._ Cassian circled his hips against me, my body responding with moves of its own. My hands cautiously ventured toward his thick mane and then,

"Rhysand needs you." Mor.

Cassian extracted himself from our position against the wall with difficulty, dropping my arms. I immediately turned to the next spot on the wall, laying my flamed cheek upon the cool surface. I hated myself to allowing what had just happened.

"Couldn't he have waited?"

No, thank fire for the High Lord of the Night Court for once.


	3. PART III: Where's Ianthe?

**_A/N Thanks for the views/reads and reviews! Glad you guys are enjoying this. What started as a casual fix for my post-ACOMAF hangover has started to take off on its own with a budding plot line and promising drama ahead. I do apologize for any technical discrepancies in regards to ACOTAR/ACOMAF details - I type this on my phone while I ride the bus, so it just flows :)._**

* * *

Azriel

I wasn't one for agitation, but I paced the roof nevertheless, building up to a strategic delivery of the startling information my spies had gathered. Rhysand sat rigid in the chair meant for relaxing, his discomfort as worrisome as the news I was about to share.

I stilled at the sight of glittering gold at the top of the stairs. Ah, Morrigan.

My fierce and lovely desire of centuries heightened when she was near, lamented when we were separated and ensured a steadfast, unshakable loyalty.

There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her.

Cassian appeared behind her, flushed, breathless, and without a shirt. I turned away, clenching my fists in ill-founded jealousy, knowing it wasn't right for me to assume it had been Mor he'd just now been with. Mor looked her usual calm, pleasurable self, not a hair out of place. She wasn't mine anyhow, so even if it had been her, I had no claim to what she did. He had been her first, after all, and we'd been a close trio for hundreds of years.

Cassian had quite the womanizer reputation anyway. And maybe he'd just been fighting.

Rhysand's voice broke into my envious train of thoughts. "Let's start with the bad news." Cassian fell into a chair beside Rhys, massaging his temples. I idly wondered what had him so worked up - his wings, at least, had healed enough for him to be out and about.

"Ianthe," I began, startled at Rhysand's snarl and white knuckled grip upon his seat.

"What is that scheming bitch up to now?" He ground out vehemently. I sympathized with his sentiments after recently hearing of the ambitious High Priestess' tactics. It seemed that we'd gone from the frying pan into the fire, not only with Jurian and Hybern replacing Amarantha, but also aided by the influences of Ianthe and Tamlin.

"Hush, boy," Amren scolded as she made her way onto the roof, displaying her favorite crimson drink in an elegant wineglass. "If you wish to insult me, do it to my face."

Rhysand didn't deign to comment.

"It is perceived that she will conceive," I revealed, too distraught to admire the poetic elements of my oration that emerged under pressure.

"Oh, that's a first," Rhysand snorted, attempting to regain some semblance of amused disinterest. But his unchanged tense posture revealed his true feelings on the matter. "With whom?" He asked after a pregnant pause.

"She is now with Hybern, and it is reported that she is working her advances on him and Jurian, though her growing belly is said to be due to Tamlin."

"If she can seduce the King of Hybern, we may just be able to thwart this war," Cassian contemplated. "With him being distracted. Too bad she's not on the side of our Court."

"She's attempting to seduce him for her own gains, not for Prythian's!" Rhysand exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table. "She once tried to do the same to me, once she'd caught wind of my power.

If it's true that she holds Tamlin's child, her plans are to rule Spring Court, Hybern, and the mortal lands.

She wants to be the next Amarantha, the new High Queen. But this time, she'll rule Hybern alongside the King - or will try to do so - and have the addition of the mortal lands that Amarantha had so deeply wanted to conquer during her reign of the past half century."

There was silence meeting this revelation, broken only by Mor, "She tried to come onto you?" She loosed a low whistle. "That takes courage."

Rhysand glared at her. "Oh, she's willing to use her 'womanly charms' as a weapon," he retorted. "I've had enough of these bitches for a lifetime," he added sullenly.

"I can't believe she voluntarily returned to Hybern with the intent of seducing him," Cassian shook his head incredulously. "Usually enemies plan that sort of strategic breach, but she went willingly!"

"She's also trying to hide that rumored belly of hers," Amren paused her sipping of her lovely drink to contribute to the conversation. "It was probably Hybern's idea in the first place so they'd have the Spring Court magic in her, and even more influence over the Spring Court with the High Bae."

"We're not solid on Ianthe's plans beyond ambition to rule, correct?" Mor interjected. "She doesn't delight in torture like our favorite King?"

"The neglect of Feyre at Spring Court was torture enough," Rhysand hissed. "The advances on powerful males also a miserable manner for her to eke out her existence.

But I see what you are saying, and she is more power hungry than dangerous in that sadistic sense."

"How long until she has the babe?" Cassian asked curiously. "What's the timeframe we're working with?"

"9 weeks," Amren responded. "With the combined forces of her High Priestess prowess and Spring Court magic, the months of conception are cut to mere weeks."

"How many weeks left?" Cassian scrunched his brow, army commander brain rapidly strategizing.

"The pregnancy inducing tumble probably occurred when Feyre came to stay here," Rhysand answered bitterly. "Tamlin kept his bed warm with the nearest available woman."

"So it's early to mid development," Cassian responded thoughtfully.

"I can't believe Feyre felt guilty for falling for you because of that piece of shit," Mor shook her head. "While she held off on escalating the clear mating bond, he was taking another woman to bed in Spring Court!"

"Ianthe knows much about Prythian," I mused aloud. Information was was Hybern sought as much as power - it was my forte. I knew the lengths people would go for secrets.

"And due to my spectacular stupidity, the bitch queens shared the secret of Velaris too," Rhysand said bitterly, clenching a fistful of midnight locks. Amren smoothly sauntered over to stand in front of him.

"Now boy, your hair's too pretty to undergo the tear out treatment," she clucked her tongue. "What's done is done. That Ianthe bitch may have sought refuge in Hybern as opposed to supporting the cause of Prythian with her fertile prowess, but think about our High Lady infiltrating the Spring Court. Tamlin is the puppet of that scheming trio over in Hybern, and Feyre has him wrapped around her pinky finger."

"It's just her, though," Rhysand said forlornly, slumping against the seat. "She's so far..."

"You snap out of that funk right now, young man," Amren said, sounding like a mother hen. Mor stifled a laugh and even I felt the urge to smile at Rhys being called 'young man.' "You survived just fine when all you had was that week a month bargain. Just think of your mental fortitude then."

"Do you suppose Tamlin has any influence over Ianthe?" Cassian said. "If Feyre has power over Tamlin, and he over Ianthe, we could cause a chain reaction that defeats Hybern in his own bedroom."

"Ianthe already got what she wanted from Tamlin," Mor replied. "Her goal is to impregnate herself with Hybern's child after the concealed Spring Court bae's birth about two months from now. She'll be civil with Tamlin but not pliable to what he says, especially since she's clever enough to see Feyre's influence after her return from Night Court."

 _That's my girl_ , I thought as our gazes met. She smiled softly, nodding her head slightly to confirm that she understood my silence. That she also recognized the problematic element of Ianthe carrying Prythian's secrets to that notorious king across the sea.

* * *

Hybern

I lounged upon my engraved throne, delighted at the turn of events. Who would've guessed that they were mates? Thwarting their elaborate plans gave me such satisfaction. Oh, to think they had a chance against me, their rightful King! It was a laughing matter, to watch these mere pawns try.

Reality was often more dramatic than any plot I could concoct.

The mating bond had been severed, thanks to my doing, the bride of Spring restored to her oblivious beau, the insane, ignorant beast willing to strike a fool's bargain due to his unwavering infatuation with his supposed lover, this fickle female who now approached my raised pedestal.

"Ianthe," I acknowledged, already tiring of her petty antics. She bowed deeply, providing her glorious King with a hearty eyeful of her ample bosom. How delightful. "We are to convene in my private chambers after supper. Unless there is an urgent matter at stake?" I skeptically raised my left brow, its precise pointed arch pierced with a canine of a conquest.

"Hybern," she murmured huskily, her bedroom tone projected to suit my throne room. Her luscious lips curved upwards in a conspirator's smirk. "I have information."

"Later," I snapped. Jurian emitted a low laugh beside me.

It was an effort not to turn and lock eyes with my partner in crime.

For the sake of my conquests, Amarantha had been my Queen. I conquered in the bedroom and on the battlefield, indeed. But I have had to sacrifice my true desires for the sake of a unified Hybern and Prythian, eradicated of mortal filth, led by yours truly.

Jurian never bowed or kneeled before me, save for the merest acknowledging nods. I could make him sink to that level if I so wanted to, could force his line of vision to my feet, my nether regions. But he is my right hand man - he stands beside me. He complements my cleverness and battle strategy with his centuries of experience.

I've made my decision about him. Now it's time to discover Jurian's mindset on the matter.

* * *

Ianthe

The King of Hybern strode into the room, robes billowing behind his majestic figure. He nodded his acknowledgement at sighting me perched upon his royal purple divan, slender left leg daintily crossed over my right.

"The Night Court," I began, after a few moments of silence, "knows of my presence here, and possibly of the High Bae."

Hybern waved a dismissive hand, pacing his chambers. I pressed on.

"The mating bond is not severed."

Hybern stopped short, whirling to face me. His voice was dangerously low. "What did you say?"

"Feyre and the High Lord of the Night Court are still bound," I revealed, still unable to say the winged devil's name. "I sensed its presence when she returned to Spring Court."

Hybern rapidly came to where I was seated, leaning forward with arms braced on either side of me. I held my ground.

"I want you to maintain close scrutiny on Feyre Archeron." I furrowed my brow, bemused by his request to observe her from afar. "You are to return to Spring Court."

I widened my eyes incredulously, left hand automatically going to my stomach. Was he disregarding my predicament and the danger such a discovery would present? I was not in Hybern without reason.

"You are turning away my request for refuge, oh mighty King?" Flattery works wonders on men. "You do realize the significance of this babe's conception."

"You're a clever young lady, Ianthe. We know the timeline." He eased off the seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "If your physique is transformed enough to arouse suspicion, leave immediately. Hybern's doors are always open to you - we are only a ship ride away."

"I will depart on the morrow," I promised, pleased to have an important task. Hybern nodded, striding towards his bedroom and shutting the door.

I couldn't fathom why he hadn't yet bedded me. Perhaps it was due to my current condition, carrying child. Or maybe he wished to maintain the formality of our alliance, as he had with Amarantha.

She hadn't forged a physical dominance over Night Court's sexy devil for nothing. Ah, the late Dominatrix.

* * *

Lucien

I have always found solace in Tamlin's estate gardens and therefore we frequented these lush fields often, Feyre and I. We'd been strolling along in companionable silence for a while before Feyre spoke.

"Where's Ianthe?" Feyre asked. I glanced over at her. She'd certainly matured from her mortal days, but her stubborn spirit remained unchanged.

"I was wondering about her myself," I admitted. I'd been semi-privy to their affair, Tamlin and Ianthe's, if that civilized word could be utilized for the vile bitch's antics. "Maybe she's convening with the other High Priestesses." Wasn't I ever the emissary, even for those of loose morals.

"Conspiring with Hybern more like," Feyre scoffed. "Tell me, Lucien, is there any proof that she is still in Prythian?"

"Look, I wouldn't blink an eye if she stripped naked - frankly, an everyday occurrence - and joined the water wraiths just to let her inner wild child loose," I shook my head. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's found in Hybern's bed."

"She can do whatever the hell she wants with her body but her power! The secrets! She must retain Prythian's confidential information - outsiders cannot become her personal confidants."

We'd been traveling the garden loop and found ourselves back at the atrium gateway.

"Ianthe!" Startled, we simultaneously raised our brows, exchanging suspicious glances at Tamlin's voice at the main entrance. I know Feyre and I could winnow into the foyer and scare the shit out of the reunited lovers, but we'd save our energy and do the next best tactic. I gestured to Feyre, cocking my head towards the side entrance. We'd be conspicuous to Alis or the lesser faeries milling about, or if the duo chose to come our way, but at least we'd witness their exchange.

"My dearest High Lord of Spring, Tamlin," she purred, cupping his face with her polluted hand. "How I have missed you." _Lying, scheming bitch._

"And I you," Tamlin responded, low voice husky with desire. His broad hand shot up, instinctively, it seemed, to grip her slender wrist. I rolled my eyes. Lovely golden haired Tamlin, epitome of beast mode, could have bedded any number of women, yet he chose bad boy Rhysand's mate and a backstabbing bitch to tumble with. Typical.

"Does my humble abode remain furnished?" she inquired, trailing her fingers low around his torso as she circled him. "Or shall we...retain the original accommodations, so to speak, with necessary precautions as Feyre has returned?"

"Don't mind her," Tamlin murmured, drunk with lust. "You are welcome here, as always."

"My, my," Ianthe laughed seductively, her leisurely downwards traveling gaze stripping him bare. "Beast junior seems rather fond to see me." Tamlin emitted a low growl, pulling her flush against him. She laughed again, head falling back against his chest to expose her neck, hips dancing languidly against his nether regions.

I scrunched my nose, my cringing expression meeting Feyre's nauseous one. There were no productive gains from eavesdropping on their physical flirtation. It also seemed as though my friend would have that woman right then and there in the main hall.

"Why didn't he ask her where she's been?" I hissed as the physical display of affection escalated ahead of us.

"Because Tamlin is otherwise occupied at present and wouldn't have a clue about the bigger picture even if it danced sans garments in front of him," Feyre responded bitterly. She widened her eyes suddenly. "Lucien," she said slowly. Her tone had me worried. "Aren't the offspring of a High Lord extremely powerful?"

I nodded reluctantly. I knew what her follow up realization would be.

"Lucien!" she smacked my bicep. "Ianthe is working with Hybern! Isn't it obvious?" She took a breath. "And Tamlin is mine!" She added an an afterthought. I scoffed.

"Oh spare me the bullshit Feyre," I scowled at her. "You may have fooled Tamlin but I am privy to your _still unsevered_ mating bond with Rhysand." Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but I silenced her with a glare. "With Ianthe's prowess, she'll sniff it out too...oh shit," I swore as my heart thundered with a new theory. "Ianthe returned to spy on you, ensure that you are actually back for Tamlin and not communicating the secrets of Spring Court, Hybern's ally, with your High Lord of Night, the biggest threat to Hybern's impending conquest plans. She's here to test your loyalties and report your actions to him."

"So?" Feyre shrugged. "It isn't as if Ianthe hasn't screwed over the entire nation already. I think, just as she's trying to expose my not-so-secret still intact mating bond and loyalties, we'll have to figure out what she's hiding - and what she knows."

"So it's true," I breathed, letting the confirmation sink in. Feyre shrugged again. "We need to confirm that Ianthe is carrying child." Feyre emitted a strangled noise. "And that she came back from Hybern just now. Because Tamlin's end of the bargain with the King was that we got you back, and then Spring Court would be civil but no longer involved. It leaves a further negative impression on Tamlin to be continuing to feed information to Hybern in these times of war and strife. We could attempt to forge an alliance with Hybern to thwart the impending war, but we cannot allow him to vanquish Prythian and the mortal lands as he so desires.

I have a nasty suspicion that the demon spawn is Hybern's doing."

"Demon spawn?" Feyre inquired, puzzled, before it dawned on her. "It's going to be a High...Bae I suppose. They're rare and powerful immediately upon birth?" I nodded reluctantly.

"There is no doubt that the High Bae will be a powerhouse - as you are after your rebirth from the seven High Lords - and highly desired by all Courts and Hybern, as well as the dangerous lesser faeries. The newborn will have to learn appropriate usage of his or her abilities and to lie low. Development will certainly be accelerated but the babe cannot fall into the wrong hands - all that unharnessed magic!"

"How am I to continue to charade, privy to the dirty details of this Court's inner workings? When the wings of my mate's mother and sister are confined here?" Feyre sounded anguished. "A battle is on the horizon. A High Bae of which the likes have never been seen before is growing in the belly of one of my enemies. My sisters are High Fae, the Cauldron and Book have been reunited, Jurian is alive and working with Hybern, Cassian's wings..."

"We're going to take it a step at a time in a rational manner," I said. "Yes we'll have to keep our figurative masks on, because Cauldron boil me," Feyre shot me a nasty look and I assumed an apologetic expression. "I will not opt for a literal mask again. Keep an eye on Ianthe, just as she's been sent to monitor you."

* * *

Jurian

"Jurian!" barked the King of Hybern, awakening me from my lovely daydream. Ah, Ianthe. Where had she gone with luscious lips and elegant hips? I grunted as I stood up, scowling at him. If not for my own interest to side with the winning team, I would not be working with Amarantha's old hubby.

I'd rather work with her whore. He's prettier anyhow.

He would have had my loyalty had he taken his status of most powerful High Lord to the next level, ambitiously looking to be King of Prythian. Instead, he'd fiercely protected his Inner Circle, his mate, and his precious city. Sentimentality, I tell you. Ruthless ambition, battle lust, oh and speaking of lust...

I would wine and dine Ianthe as pretty boy had done in Amarantha's Court - oh yes, my position upon the High Queen's fingers had seen a great many things. Including her bedroom activities.

To think of bedding this guy...I gave him a subtle once over, pausing around his navel. I sucked in a breath, debating whether to dare my gaze lower. "Jurian!" he barked again. "We need to strategize for the next stretch of our conquest with the queens!"

Ah, the queens. The Cauldron hadn't appreciated their mortal filth dirtying up its ageless glory, and therefore they had emerged a grotesque combination of lesser faerie and weak mortal.

I prefer staring at pretty, powerful people. Like myself.

I sighed. Yet another boring, useless meeting of all talk and no action. Hybern and I got more done in his private chambers.


	4. PART IV: Drunk in Love

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! This past month's been quite the whirlwind for me, and I was uncertain how far I wanted to take the last part here, both due to NA being a new genre for me to write and because I had qualms about moving too fast with some of the relationships (warning: sexy times ahead). I've been reading (mostly CoHort books and HP fanfics) and reviewing (Goodreads, my blog) instead of writing, but I've been reinspired to jump back into the world of fanfiction. Oh, and in said last segment: yes, I know "majesticity" isn't really a word, but hey, it fit ;)**_

* * *

Cassian

By the Cauldron, she's so beautiful. She was on the rooftop, training with Rhys, as I tried unsuccessfully to blend into the shadows at the top of the staircase. It was Az's forte, not mine. I liked being in the center of the action, visible in all my magnificence.

She'd been avoiding me since the training room incident, and we hadn't crossed paths despite living in such confined quarters. I could, of course, confront her about it like a man, but if she wanted to play this game, she'd have to watch me win.

I wasn't sure what would happen the next time we acknowledged each other anyhow.

When I'd entered the training room to spar with Azriel the following day, I'd had to clench my thighs together and grit my teeth, especially upon sighting my sword on the rack. And the wall. I needed a clear head to combat Az.

I'd seen her at dinner that night, but she'd so blatantly cut me out of the conversation with biting insults that I've taken to eating in my recovery room. My wings are still in no shape to fly, but at least they aren't in tatters. Bless the Night Court healers.

I have no lack of women fawning over me. Heck, I could have a woman a night if I so pleased - and I had done so in the past. But never have I so deeply desired a woman that I could not think straight. That I was almost ready to beg her to talk to me, merely look at me. Almost.

It helped to distract myself with other developments in our Court, such as the other Archeron sister's thorn embedded whip. She loved the gardens, always tending to her flowers and humming as she watered the plants. We'd all thought she was soft and sweet, nothing like her warrior sisters. Boy, were we wrong! She'd been designing her whip in privacy, whipping it out as she and Az faced off in the training room after quietly asking to spar. I'd offered to add metal spikes to the frightening weapon but she'd politely declined, stating that she wished to expire the full extent of her flower power. So be it.

At present, Rhys raised his brows at me as he parried with Nesta, silently asking if I had come to share a report. I shook my head, cocking my head towards Nesta. Rhys smirked, unnecessarily twirling in the midst of their sword fight so I was in her line of vision. I further attempted to flatten myself against the wall, cringing with embarrassment. Oh where was my cocky arrogance now?

Nesta apparently thought the same. She snarled as she spotted me, lashing out with her sword in fury. Her uncoordinated, rage driven jab caused her to trip over Rhys' foot and fall with a sickening thud. No matter. She was immediately up, stalking towards me with a feral intensity. I narrowed my eyes to meet the hard stare that pinned me to the spot.

"Can't stay away from me?" she raised the perfect arch of her right brow, slowly dragging her mouth along her sword's length as she held my gaze. She artfully maneuvered her weapon, tracing my angular cheekbone with its tip without preamble. I bit my lip, hard, to keep from retorting, to not rip the sword from her hands and pin her to the wall...and return the pain she caused me, the physical, the emotional anguish, not a want, but a need...

"Oh don't do that," she scolded mildly, her tone at odds with the fire in her eyes. She tapped my Cupid's bow with her sword. "I want to do that."

Rhys coughed. Nesta whirled back to him, brandishing her weapon. "Back to business, boss."

"NSFW, Nesta dear," Rhys purred, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Or have you never worked a day in your life?" I couldn't help but contribute to their exchange. I didn't like how Nesta was admiring Rhys. He's gorgeous, honey, I know, but very much unavailable.

"I've worked hard for a great many things, Illyrian bat." Rhys attempted to stifle his laughter at the name but failed miserably. Nesta strut towards me in her form fitting fighting garments, all dark and tight, heart shaped neckline on her sleeveless, low cut top dipping right there. "As I work you," she smirked as she brushed past me, hips trailing across my groin. I clenched my fists and narrowed my gaze as she flounced away, deliberately sashaying her shapely curves. My focus remained upon her retreating figure, unable to look away, until she disappeared into the shadows, turning back to Rhys with difficulty. Blood trickled down the side of my face.

Rhys wiggled his eyebrows with a downright devilish smirk. "The Commander of the Illyrian army rendered speechless?" His Cheshire Cat grin grew. "I think we've found your match!"

"Indeed," said Az, coming up the stairs.

"Oh shush Az, you just want Mor for yourself," I said crossly. The present third of Night Court's Inner Circle assumed identical masks of shock. It was an unspoken agreement that we never acknowledged the elephant in the room.

"Mor is my cousin," Rhys interjected playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Az had looked away awkwardly, successfully becoming one with the shadows. "We all have a close connection to her." He looked at us sternly. "Now, boys, patience is key. All will fall into place."

He could talk - he had Feyre. As if reading my mind, Rhys paused by me on his way out. "You and I both know what we all have gone through for my situation," he said quietly, gaze burning into mine. I nodded mutely, still smarting from the run in with Nesta Archeron.

* * *

Amren

"Nesta," I stopped the newborn on her way to her chambers. She turned to me, the set of her shoulders tense, the precise angles of her face covered in blood, sweat and tears.

"What do you want?" she snapped, though it had none of its usual bite. Her voice was hoarse, her tone tired.

"What troubles you, child?" I could not help but ask.

"First, don't ever call me child," she narrowed her eyes, voice dangerously low. "And why would you think I'm not fine? Everything's superb."

I laughed, a joyless sound. "You are but a babe in the centuries of my immortal life. I tolerate very few, but have seen very many. Do not think I ask out of sentimentality. I merely recognized another fiery spirit burnt out smothering flames."

"I don't know what to do!" Nesta burst out. "I don't want to be yet another woman who has succumbed to his charms, merely his next conquest.

We are to be equals in every battlefield. Bonded by our fierce ambitions to rise above every opponent. To remain true to our hearts and the passion within us."

"War approaches on the horizon. Do not deny yourself the pleasures of fulfillment, but do not rush and fall into artificiality. Let it progress naturally, but always be grateful for what you have and what you have found, for you never know when it will be snatched away from you." I swallowed, remembering my past.

"Thank you Amren," she said, turning away. Not before I scented the deep longing within her, sighted the crystal tears sparkling upon her long lashes.

* * *

Nesta

I braced myself, knuckles posed upon his recovery chambers. I finally rapped lightly, cringing inwardly.

"Just a minute!" came Mor's cheery voice, followed by Cassian's groan. I snarled as an infinite possibilities of what they were doing in there flashed through my mind and I turned away, clenching my fists against the fiery onslaught of sharp words bound to fly from my mouth like ash arrows.

* * *

Feyre

What were they doing for so long? Of course, my bedroom was situated in close proximity to Tamlin's. Once it had been for easy access to my bed, now it was for me to hear the sounds of their frisky business.

I didn't mind in the slightest. I just missed Rhysand. But if I was to pretend that I had returned for my lovely fiancé - the mere idea made me gag - I'd have to muster up some jealousy. That wasn't hard, thinking of how I longed for my Illyrian baby to be at my side as the bitch of epic proportions was at that trash bag's. Or if I retrieved the envy I once had regarding Ianthe when I was insecure after returning to Spring Court fresh out of Under the Mountain.

Supper was fast approaching, with Alis bustling into the room right on schedule. "A stunning item, if you could," I requested. She raised her brows but said nothing. Rummaging through my untouched collection, she withdrew the splendid crimson gown I'd worn before, when I was to be Lady of Spring Court, and laid out matching gold jewelry. I admired her handiwork after the last stroke had been drawn upon my face. Red and gold shimmered upon my lids, kohl elegantly lined with a fine paintbrush, lips blood red. I wasn't playing tonight.

She last brought out sleek golden heels. "I hope you know what you're doing," she said earnestly, fixing me with her gaze. "She's not one to trifle with." Clever Alis, aware of the real threat in all of this drama.

"I am aware," I responded, turning back to gaze into the mirror. I did so not out of vain necessity, but to once again attempt to communicate with my mate, my Rhys. I fixed my sight upon the mirror, clever eyes in all their long lashed glory, and breathed deep from my core, reaching for the essence of my being, of our mating bond, from deep within me.

The tunnel was dark, the path seemingly endless. I ran along the uneven ground, shivering in my long cloak. Under the minimal glow of the moon, the destination ahead of me alternated between a spiked gate and bright light. And then...

"Feyre, that's quite enough admiration out of you today," Alis scolded. "My word, youngsters these days," she muttered.

"My apologies," I said distractedly. "Alis, please move all black, violet and Night Court clothing from the closet to my traveling vestibules, if you may." She nodded, briskly gathering the items of my request for placement in my artfully concealed luggage.

* * *

Rhysand

After days of wandering about with strictly reason guiding my daily motions, I felt the twinges of life. It feathered at the gates of my mental fortress, caressed the doorways of my mind's castle. As soon as I reached for that ever increasingly foreign feeling of being alive, the candle in the darkness flickered and died.

* * *

Mor

I was no healer, but I knew of soothing ointments and had further consulted with flower child Elain. I spread the solution reassuringly along Cassian's wingspan, the both of us seemingly desensitized to the increasingly intimate act until he emitted his signature groan, which, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, caused countless women to cross their legs lest they lost their lingerie. I felt a sigh, partly nostalgia, partly fondness, beginning to emerge when, rat-a-tat-tat! "Just a minute!" I called out cheerfully. Cassian groaned once more - as I'd been answering the knock at the door, I'd accidentally gripped rather tightly along the pride of his Illyrian manhood. Strangely, the individual wishing to speak to Cassian said nothing before the sound of retreating footsteps were heard.

Who had that been?

* * *

Ianthe

She was a sight to behold, descending the stairway in all her flowing finery. There was also a new glow about her, a confidence, an inner fire, that hadn't been present before. Strangely, I couldn't feel the force of a mating bond, as much as I concentrated. I turned to Tamlin to gauge his reaction to this lovely sight but was greeted instead by the calculating one-eyed stare of Lucien, as Tam-Tam had his gaze possessively roving over every inch of his former fiancé's figure.

I attempted to muster any sort of jealousy or feeling towards my sexy beast, the father of my child, but came up empty. My sweet blondie, he was a dear, but a mere means to an end. I had Hybern hook ups to plan. But first, where was the bond?

"Feyre!" I exclaimed delightedly. "Come sit next to me, sweetheart." Feyre's radiant lips turned upwards in an equally pleased manner.

"I would love to," she positively simpered. I could feel the heat of Lucien's suspicion-ridden hatred scorching my lovely locks. "But I haven't seen my Tamlin in so long. Where were you last night? I have missed you so." She travelled across the floor to stand beside him, lightly twirling a strand of his golden hair.

The sudden tension in the room was palpable. I channeled my best poker face, and Tamlin, ever the basic beast, looked up at her with ill-concealed lust. "You look absolutely resplendent tonight, my Feyre."

Feyre beamed, sliding into the seat perpendicular to his at the head of the table. I stole a glance at Lucien, who looked vaguely nauseous. I was also rather confused.

"I'm so proud of you for your bravery during your horrendous Night Court experience," Tamlin shuddered. "I cannot bear to part with you once again."

"I know," Feyre said softly, placing her hand atop his. "Come see me tonight," she murmured, only my strained hearing catching the phrase.

* * *

Lucien

"Feyre, what the hell?" I glowered at her, the two of us standing tersely* at the window. "What was that all about?"

"Award-winning acting," she grimaced, patting my shoulder. "Need to soften up the duo before discovering Ianthe's womb status. Plus throw the bloodhound off the scent of the bond."

"Did it work?" I raised my brows. My statement was immediately followed by a knocking pattern at the door.

"I suppose it did," Feyre said warily, eyeing the door like it had piranhas behind it.

"I thought you wanted to bed Tamlin tonight...?" I teased, relenting at her murderous glance. "Okay, okay."

"I'd bed you first before that douchebag," she ground out. Suddenly, she brightened. "Aha! Let him find you in here with me. He was with Ianthe last night."

"How do you know...okay," I shrugged. "Do your worst."

"Feyre?" The knock once more.

"Oh Lucien!" Feyre swooned dramatically. I sucked in my stomach to keep from bursting out laughing. "Someone's at the door. Just a minute!" she called out.

"Feyre, you're pure magic," I responded in kind, hoping my friend didn't notice the amused undertones. "I missed you." That, at least, was genuine.

"As I couldn't stand a day without you." We grinned at each other, enjoying the charade.

* * *

Tamlin

I was royally pissed. First Rhysand, now Lucien? My fiancé's gorgeous, I know, but keep your hands off her, ye filthy bastards. She belongs to me. Property of Tamlin.

Maybe instead of going on a ride tonight, Ianthe and I would talk shop. Plans for world dominion* and all. The show must go on.

* * *

Elain

I found my older sister in the garden, lying in the flower bed with the birds and the bees. It was so uncharacteristic of her that I started.

"Nessie," I said softly, using my rarely used nickname for her. She looked up at me. "What's the matter?"

"Ella," she acknowledged. "Rhysand, Mor and Azriel have gone on a spying mission. I train daily but I can't face Cassian." She looked away, ears reddening. I knew how much that admission had cost her.

"Well," I said thoughtfully, trying not to smile. "There's Amren."

"Very true." Nesta shot to her feet. "Let me find that badass bitch."

* * *

Cassian

Mor's salve had greatly improved the appearance of my wings, slowly restoring them to their former glory, though they were still not ready for flight. I had to check on the Illyrian army camp, however, lest matters stray out of hand. There was a budding female fighting squadron that I wanted to further support, with the help of...

I almost mistook her for Elain, with the leaves and flowers strewn* in her dark locks. She huffed past me, heading for the stairs. "Nesta." I said, trying to keep my voice steady. She ignored me as usual, through there was an increased swing to her step as she ascended to the upper level. "Nesta," I repeated louder, anger and frustration driving my tone.

"Ready for me to carve up your face again, dweeb?" She smirked at me from her elevated position. I scratched my head with the point of my sword - what did that term mean?

"I was actually hoping that you'd accompany me to the Illyrian war camp." Nesta froze, and I saw her waging an inner battle, weighing her options.

"But I'm not fully trained yet," she said, biting her lip, a rare uncertainty in her voice and an even more infrequently revealed vulnerability in her stance. I wanted to reach for her, crush her against me, embrace her, envelope her in my arms but this, this was new, this I wasn't prepared for, this frightened me, this potential for rejection.

"Do you want to train now?" I asked, voice cracking slightly, throat suddenly dry.

"How about," she said slowly, "we play a game. If you are able to catch me and get my body on the floor, you get a point. If I can get up, a point to me. And vice versa."

"Any ground rules?" I managed, distracted by talk of potential floor activities.

"No tickling, no weapons, no armor. Everything else is fair game." She dropped her sword to visibly disarm herself and fixed me with her intense gaze. "Come get me." I charged as soon as my brain processed the command, causing her to yelp and flee up the stairs. She made a beeline for my bedroom, squealing - by the Mother, there must have been something in the air of the flower garden, probably one of Elain's experiments - and hoisting herself atop my bed. She threw a cushion at me. "Pillow fight!" It hit me square in the face, causing me to protest.

"Hey! No weapons!" I ducked as another came flying. I shook my head. Dodging my own pillows was not what I expected as a real-world application of my Illyrian army training.

"There are better weapons to bring men to their knees," she smirked languidly, undoing her cloak with a flourish. She flung it aside dramatically, the dark fabric billowing to the ground. Beneath, she wore a scandalous nude camisole that clung to her like a second skin - too short and tight, leaving nothing to the imagination, to have any semblance to a tunic - and similarly shapely leggings.

"Are you drunk?" I had to ask, voice suddenly hoarse. I mean, why leave me out of all the fun? She and I could go to Rita's together. If this severely inexplicable occurrence of her consensual, pleasurable presence in my bedroom hasn't arisen, I would've headed over right this instant to get equally buzzed.

"If I am, hopefully we'll both forget this," she responded, gradually approaching my still stature at the foot of my bed. Her kneeling position gave me an eyeful of ample bosom, round as summer melons, barely concealed by that sorry excuse for clothing coverage. I kept my gaze away from with only the strictest discipline. Her luscious lips were just as appealing, as were her long lashed, stormy eyes staring intently at me.

I was hardening and softening at once, weak in the knees as the apex of my thighs throbbed with raw strength. She leaned forward, the cloth further slipping to reveal the swell of her full breasts, their meeting path a valley of secrets, a sultry darkness between the radiant light. The temptation was utterly unbearable; my hands, which I had been clenching and unclenching frantically as the heat rose and my thick leather belt strained to contain me, stroked down her toned obliques to hold her nether curves, self control ripping into shreds. With incredible dexterity, she thrust her hips forward to meet my groin and pulled me flush against her front by hooking her right leg around my muscled ass. She rose slightly, smoldering dark eyes narrowing in challenge as her pelvis aggressively ground against my length in the pattern of infinity. I tensed, teeth clenched, ready to cause her the same agony. My right hand moved from her heart shaped behind, the sheer size, its utter majesticity more challenging than a shield to hold in all its shapely, spacious glory, to probe* the increasingly visible dark peaks of her breasts, rapidly rising and falling beneath the thin material. I sucked in a breath as she gasped instinctively at the first flick, dark golden head falling back in ecstasy, back arching into my awaiting missile.* I bought my lips down to her exposed neck, dragging my tongue to taste her and she gasped, closing the final distance with a sudden maneuver of her clever head. Her lush, pink mouth captured mine and we collectively groaned, joined lips vibrating with the long awaited sensation. The fierce fighter, my warrior queen, seductive temptress, and I, commander of the Illyrian army, uncontrollably devoured each other, as if we'd been starving, memorizing each other's taste, slick, sharp tongues dancing the sensual tango.

She may or may not have been drunk, but I now knew with certainty that I was. Drunk in love.


End file.
